Summertime

Filling the days with sun, sea, boat tours, beautiful caves, Greek temples, trying to make people happy while at the southern tip of Campania. Then quiet days with green hills, morning clouds, chilly nights and family time, in the middle of Campania's countryside.

Summer here is not so bad - except it lasts just 2 weeks, before the town falls again into its winter lethargy. Open air concerts everywhere, food festivals all over. And people coming back to their roots from the four corners of the world.

I am not one of those. In a way, I never left. I'm not one of those who settled somewhere else in the world, I'm just temporarily away. Am I?

Travelling by my-efficient-self

Some trips start with a long oft-interrupted nap, others are more like time for yourself, time when you learn about yourself and the world. Like a journey in the journey.
This summer trip home is one of those. No sleeping, no screaming babies, no stress. Time to shop, sit, read, rest and smile.
How come after days of weakness and illness, here I am on top of everything I have to do, ticking off one organisational task after the other, pleasantly chatting with airport employees or taxi drivers, reading work-related papers I had been postponing for weeks and even the manual of instruction of the new camera?
And learning. Learning that fat is a feminist issue, that taking a decision is best done before going to the loo, that the best coffee is served down-under (hey, who wrote this?).
And I know exactly where to recharge my battery after landing and while waiting for the luggage.
So far, a promising day. And a promising trip.
Wishing for a promising life.

A bridge too far

My last night in NYC, all attractions closed, not in the mood for shopping, time for the metaphysical experience of heading out of Manhattan.
To the place where you can walk - literally - in the middle of the street, going from Cranberries to Pineapple, enjoy the sunset and skyline views from the Promenade.
That's Brooklyn and here you have peace, jogging against the Manhattan skyline, streets where you can park only on Tuesday between 6 and 8, and organic burgers at a very cosy and cute, probably Jewish owned, café "Siggy's Good Food" - café owner Siggy is a very nice lady, fun to chat with. Aliens eat free here.
Best pick: Wolavers, organic honey-flavoured ale from Vermont.
Did I mention already that I love New York?

Tiny Italy

Little Italy in nyc is basically 1 street, Mulberry St. Around the corner of some Chinese souvenir shop, a strip of restaurants with Italian - even EU! - flags and that's more or less it.
Of course, inevitable like death, soundtrack by Eros Ramazzotti and old Napoletan songs.
At the last flag-raising gathering of Italian-americans, they asked the Consul if he could bring a flag and sing the anthem: no cd available here with Fratelli d'Italia on it.
Also tried icecream at Ferrara (since 1892), not memorable. American customer after me said 'grazie' to the - African-American - girl at the counter. She replied 'pregow', of course.
A quick shopping at the young designers markets somewhere north close to Houston st. reveals another secret: about 10% off if you want to pay cash. Thank you.

Gute zeiten

So much to do and so little time.
Fantastic Friday night cruise on the Hudson river, kindly offered by the university. Spectacular, breathtaking views of the city skyline and of the Statue of Liberty.
You stand there, staring and thinking about beauty. And taking millions of photos.
And there comes the sun again. Nice to feel that a sunny day in summer is the rule, not the lucky exception - sorry, Brussels expat blues.
And nice to go for a bike ride around Central Park, shopping for electronics in Midtown, watching the Magic Flute at the Lincoln Center. A little less jetlag and the day could have been concluded with rooftop drinks.
Maybe tomorrow.

NY nights

New York nights are great.
Out walking in Chinatown and SoHo with two American guys. Their dialogues, the exchanges with people in the street, their looks: all hilarious.
A walk on the High Line at sunset, dinner in the Meatpacking district, drinks in a jazz bar in Greenwich with a concerts of a massive singer. Impressive.
I Feel good here, breath well, walk well, enjoy everything and it's so big it doesn't seem to end.
It's like being in love.

Off Broadway

The Fantasticks, the longest running show in the world. And I went to see it.
That's what happens when you ask a random stranger in the street what she thinks about the random shows on offer at Tkts.
The theatre was fairly small and we had to ask people to stand to let us go to our seats, promising we'd not get out. "I promise you the same" replied the old man at the beginning of the row.
I love NY :)
If only they lowered this bloody air conditioning.

Upper West Side

In Central Park, everybody jogs. 70+ white-haired lady with iPod in her hears, young mom pushing the stroller (with twins), fully muscled bare-chest African-American, overweight French-speaking couple carrying their backpacks. And squirrels.
Maybe I should go too. Mò vediamo...
In the meantime, and waiting for conference dinner, let's do the Museum of natural history, where dinosaurs are huge and where a simple display of fossils becomes a political statement in favour of evolution theory. And where you get free internet and a plug point  to recharge battery - at least until the guard notices what you're doing.
Also got hotdog, oversized coke, Starbucks tall-something, flip-flops and gave directions to tourists on my first day here.

Mingling

Saturday afternoon of people-watching and window screening on 5th Avenue done. Dress code: noone be afraid of mini-shorts or mini-miniskirts and don't forget your A&F T-shirt. Who said dresses went out of fashion in NYC? They just got shorter (so actually for some people they *should* be out of fashion).
Flip-flops rule the city.
No Saturday night live, since jet-lag took its toll and delivered me to Morpheus at 9:30.
And so, here I am, in a lazy Sunday morning before 8 AM, having breakfast in a white and red café in upper west side Manhattan, with jazz music and a huge cappuccino.
Let's go!

Love, loops and lysine

A long day ahead of me started with a bunch of language issues in Zaventem airport.
My T-shirt with the Union Jack and the statement " I love Londres", made the security attendant totally confused about which language to use with me - thank goodness I'm not wearing my 'f*ck Google, ask me' T-shirt.
Half an hour later, trying to be cooperative with the personnel at boarding gate, I offered French and there panic started: noone there really knew French - hey, am I still in Brussels?
Get onboard reaching for my window sit - why on earth did I pick window? - ask my neighbours in English if they could let me in, no success, spot their Italian passport and try speaking Italian, no way - why on earth do we give Italian passports and voting rights to great-grandchildren of some half-Italian who fled the country a century ago?
But finally here I am, on a plane taking me to my antitrust refreshment course, choosing the first film to watch - how could I hesitate? - picked The Informant :-)

Sun beach

I can stand winter in the North. I don't mind its being cold, rainy, snowy, whatever. It's winter, let it be so.
It's summer the hard part.
When the only colour you get during a late June day is a uniform shade of grey, when you still need a scarf and can profitably use a pair of boots, when you decide to turn back on the heater, well, then it's too much to handle. Someone used to call me "my southerner" and knew very well what it means for my mood.

But sometimes, out of nowhere, when you are not waiting for it anymore, and not hoping either, it suddenly happens. The grey sky opens up and the (slightly pale) northern sun comes to pierce the unexpected blue above you.
And suddenly it's too hot for your jacket, it's too bright for your eyes, it's too nice for staying in a city who doesn't even know what to do with it.
And so, off you go. Huge empty beaches, boats at the horizon and a promenade of cafés and blondish, pale-gone-pink people. Not "my" sea, not "my" people, not "my" cafés, yet Nieuwpoort was a very nice surprise. And the ice-cream with fruit salade was on the menus.

Dreams or reality?

There is a fine line between sleep and wakefulness. A vanishing but rich place populated by ghosts and by great intuitions. It's the place where the best ideas are born. 

In that tiny place, I saw success to achieve, tasks to complete and novels to write.  

Maybe I saw the truth but did not recognise her. She was disguised as sorrow.

I saw myself there and I saw you. You were walking away. I let you go and slowly slid into the darkness.

A ticket to heaven please

When your thoughts travel quicker than your actions. When your body betrays you and prevents you from flying away. Sometimes you cannot travel with your body, but you can still fly away with your mind.

I have no ticket, but a smell or a picture can take you a long way.

A jasmin smell threw me back in Tunis, good time of hot sun, new friends and wound healing.

A beautiful photo on a website and I'm back in Malta, when it was time for hopes - or perhaps illusions.

What will come next? What word will be pronounced to make me jump back a few years into good memories? Or maybe make me want to get another ticket and run away.

E il pensiero va

The end

A un certo punto il film finisce e le luci si riaccendono.
I titoli di coda elencano i personaggi e interpreti:
Daniela, nel ruolo della guida turistica sorridente, semi-astemia e piena di energia che molla tutto e si trasferisce in un'isola greca.
Lisos, nel ruolo dell'imprenditore turistico che arruola ragazze mai viste per fare da fotografa o da guida.
Yorgo, nel ruolo dell'amico del ristorante, silenzioso e timido che mentre serve ai tavoli colpisce il cuore delle turiste.
Alessandro, nel ruolo del macho del bar, abbronzato dagli occhi verdi e dalla parlantina abbondante di avventure, probabilmente inventate.
Tasos, nel ruolo dell'albergatore un po' imbranato, che ha appena scoperto booking.com e con la mamma che prepara da mangiare per un reggimento.
E mentre il sole, il blu e il bianco restano lì dove sono nati, i titoli di coda finiscono, le luci del cinema si accendono definitivamente e io torno alla realtà.
L'aereo atterra, io sto bene e penso che a volte ci costruiamo da soli le nostre prigioni, per poi passare giorni, mesi e anni a cercare di scappare. Solo che alla fine la prigione ce la portiamo dietro dovunque andiamo.
This is the end.

The photographer

Meet the Greeks.

Studios owner's mama brings you lunch and flowers.
Tavern owner gives you Ouzos every time you pass by.
Tour agency owner offers you a free boat trip if you take photos for them. And offers a job to your friend.

Meet the Americans.

Go for the boat trip as 'professional' photographer and explain to the American family your life as free lance.
Give them tourist tips.
Get tipped.

Sweet and spicy, as good life

Streets with no signs, but I drove them.
Stones under my feet, but I kept walking.
Wrong shoes on the cliff, but I climbed.
Little and big drops of egoism, but I smiled.

I'm almost perfect. I only need a tattoo.

Beach discovery

By car today, trying to discover hidden beauties while coping with the local efficiency and with the street indications.

First conclusion of the day: here distances are measured differently and 1km can be anything between 2 and 5 of the km you are used to.

So, 1 or 2 local km away, we reached Vlychada, with its white cliffs and 1-2 more km took us to the beautiful red beach: the spectacular view was worth the flip-flop climbing experience.

Perfect end of the day can be only sunset and cocktail on the caldera. Besides, by now I know my way around even without signs.

Touring the south

Day starts at Profitis Ilias monastery, on a hill about 500 mt high, with nice views, 2 small churches, priests aged between 24 and 44 and thousands of lady bugs (shall I believe in so much good luck?).

Next stop: Megalochori. Very cute and quiet traditional village, land of wineries, where grapes are grown in baskets to protect them from wind and volcanic sand. At some point we gotta taste it!

Beautiful Emporio comes next with ancient castle, a labyrinth of small streets, and cute white round buildings. Nicest village so far.

Off to the beach finally.

Fira and Oia

"You can't compare it to Venice" was the first thoughtful insight collected in Fira, courtesy of some unknown French girl.
What to say? She is certainly right.

A long stroll along the caldera gives plenty of satisfaction to the beauty seeking eyes, as the warm sun helps healing some winter wounds.

Absolutely impressed by the views, though not impressed by the attitude in those posh pretentious cafés and hotels occupying much of the town.

Yet, definitely pleased by the breeze and by the peaceful breaks between the international hordes crowding the white streets whenever a bus or a ship stops by this tiny port.

Next comes Oia, home to more stunning views and to the most romantic sunset. And sunset is the main theme here: no restaurant or bar will fail to promise the 360 degree view every visitor deserves. Unfortunately, having arrived a little too early, this waiting for the sunset is starting to make me a little anxious. I'm getting a bit afraid of the moment when the sun goes down and hordes of lovers - or of photo fanatics - arrive to take control of the whole town.

Trying a glass of white on one of those sunset view terraces to recover my Zen.

Well, u know what? This Oia sunset is overrated.

Going to Greece

Even after so many flights, taking off never fails to make me smile. A smile of pleasure and of expectations, of joy and of wish. That superb feeling of conquering the sky.

Then comes the landing, in a strip of land half sunk by an earthquake, black of lava and blue of cobalt. Can't wait to start taking pictures.

But the kiss of the southern sun on my skin is too tempting to ignore. A gentle touch, a light caress is all I need for today. Discoveries, adventure, pictures, maybe tomorrow. Sorry world, today is for me.

Are we strangers?

There are times when the Bible saying "aliens and strangers in this world" comes to my mind.

Sometimes it is a political statement. If we (cristians) are aliens and strangers, simple pilgrims in this world, why should we impose our laws into the codes of a country? If you believe and divorce, you will go to hell, but not to jail.

Sometimes, it is about life. A twist of logic makes someone's mistake become your fault.

Sometimes it is about Belgium.
In my home town, we say "little blond heads" and we mean a bunch of children from some remote north- or east- European country.
In my country of adoption, they say "little blond heads" and they mean their own children playing in the backyard.

Calessi

A beautiful day, shining of light, smelling of summer.
A breathtaking sunset, red of desire, or of deep pain.
And then the moonless night came. Invincible darkness swallowed summer, desire and pain.

Was it real or was it a dream?
Was it life or was it a tale?
Was it true or was it a lie?

Was it love or was it a hackney cab?

Athens, here we come

Landing in the south starts always with a nice feeling: skies are higher, the sun is shining, the air just smells differently. Or it's the spring, maybe. But actually it's the same: for a Brussels expat springtime and south Europe are synonyms.

A walk through Monastiraki and Plaka, a visit of the Acropolis and of the new Acropolis museum (where the basis of "my" statue - ancient Filoumeni - is on display), souvlaki at Thanasis, a day-long intense meeting on Greek Broadband.

A good dinner in a restaurant with a view of the Acropolis is certainly for tourist, but who cares, we are tourists. More for locals, drinks in the posh Kolonaki area. There my friend asked "so, where is the crisis"? Young, well dressed people enjoying themselves with a cigarette and a drink. In fact, one of the Greeks we met remarked that Briatore's Billionaire in Porto Cervo is nothing special once you've seen Athens' clubs.

Definitely a very nice trip. That said, I don't think I would like living in Athens. And here I am, back to Brussels.

Good night and goodluck

Buona notte a te che parti, che scappi e che sfuggi.
Buona notte a te che non hai paura di niente, che puoi fare a meno di tutti, che sorridi a tutti e poi ti lasci tutti alle spalle.

Buon viaggio in Inghilterra, buon viaggio in Danimarca, buon viaggio in Africa.
E buon viaggio dentro di te.

Buona notte e buon viaggio nella tua storia, quella che stai scrivendo, quella in cui tutto va come tu vuoi e tutti fanno quello che tu decidi.
E buon viaggio nell'altra tua storia, quella in cui i personaggi non fanno mai quello che vuoi tu, quella in cui tutto va storto, quella che hai rinunciato a scrivere.

Buona notte

La porti un bacione a Firenze

There you go, I'm in Rome again, after 2,5 days in Florence.
Firenze, a very cute city, absolutely nice for a visit, it did not speak to my heart. Not in the way Rome does and did since the first day many years ago.

Wandering through the narrow streets in the centre without a destination in the sweet sunlight of the late afternoon.

But what is it exactly that Rome has and Florence doesn't?

Rome is bigger, more chaotic, dirtier perhaps, more tiring for sure. Noisy as hell.

I guess it's like being in love, you know it, you feel it and yet you can't point at the single thing which makes a difference. Not that love alone would suffice, yet with no love nothing can even start. Not even picking your residence.

Inshallah

Finito.

At Casablanca airport waiting to board for a 'comfortable' night flight in economy class to Rome via Frankfurt, no power is left for stock-taking. Tomorrow maybe.

Departure was celebrated by a walk on avenue Hassan II and by an authentic Moroccan pizza cooked in feu de bois. Yes, I know: silly Italians going for pizza in north-Africa. But try 8 days of tajine and couscous and anything short of Pizza Hut would do.

At the end, a great trip. Marrakesh will see me soon again, inshallah.

Last Moroccan lunch

Maybe

Last day

Free day in Marrakesh and Ourika valley.

After a walk on a not-extremely reassuring bridge, Moroccan-way green tea at a Berber home is in order.

The strenuous resistance to the sale of all sort of stuff could not survive the sundown walk through the Marrakesh Suq. Wonder if Lufthansa will let me onboard.

Perhaps we should just have stayed a bit longer lying in the sun on the side of the swimming pool. Life can be tough.

Gorgeous restaurant for dinner, with excellent food, dancers and trendy club à l'etage. We left the Pacha for another time.

By the way, we also ate some stuff from the stand of an old man in Jamâ el-fna. Message to my friends: was great too meet you ;)

The last day starts. Back to Europe tonight but a doubt still stays: is that the real colour of the bergamots or have we been fooled during the whole trip?

Marrakesh

Marrakesh day today. Never-ending bus ride and NYE party left us quite exhausted but the visit to the medina was well worth the effort.

Jemâ el-Fna and its colours, perfumes, sounds and people left us dizzy and amazed - not quite like the local beer.

Got my name tattooed in Arabic on my arm, got enough Argan oil to prevent wrinkles for a few more years, got something also for my friends with back problems - you know who you are.

Also learned - from our endless source of local information - that a sure way to tell an Arab from a Berber is by their nose.

Happy new year

Buon 2011 da Marrakesh!

Moroccan crossing

Beautiful day-long visit of Fez medina left us amazed, loaded of local products and exhausted. I'm still the best subject of jokes about getting lost but now everyone knows me. Also after my Moroccan outfit, which may be made public at some point.

Never-ending ride from Fez to Marrakesh today.

Going across the mid-Atlas, pit stop at the Moroccan Swiss city of Ifrane, posh ski resort, when Allah sends snow; then lunch at Khenifra, allegedly the city with the most beautiful women in Morocco (none was around to check).

Chakib took the occasion to explain that the frontier police uses monkey squads against drug smuggling. Didn't say if they wear the fez hat while on duty.

He also explained that baby girls get earrings at the beginning of their... career. We're still a bit wondering.

Asked whether, after Tunisia took Craxi in the 90s, Morocco would be willing to take some other Italian prime minister, Chakib politely declined, thanking us with the typical Moroccan gesture of the "umbrella".

For the rest of the ride, the possibility was explored for a tour member to seduce the tour leader via the use of pistaches.

New year's eve dinner in Marrakesh tonight.

Yalla yalla

20 hours trip with aborted landing as if playing 'Air Control', here starts the new African adventure, close-by. Welcome to Casablanca.

The start is immediately blessed by good luck, in the form of a half kilo post-christmas-dinner bird poop.

Afterwards, meet Chakib, our local guide. Non-stop talking while taking us from a place to another, telling old jokes and incredible stories about his country, where cities have at least 1 million extra inhabitants than official figures and where Islam empowers women and teaches sex education.

There must be something with African guides and their making up stories, remembering Isack 'o pallonaro.

But he came to rescue me after I got lost in the middle of the Fez medina, the highlight of the day - the rescue action as much ad the medina itself.

To be continued...

Flying stories - Golden Autumn

Some days you can't take it, some days they are just fine. Your co-passengers, that is.

This Autumn flight home was a lucky one (well, besides the delayed train, the neverending queues, the final run to gate 59 etc. etc.).

Today, as a starter, I got 5 very nice Leuveneses (Lovanienses?) who took care of me to make sure we jumped the queue at the security check all together. They also tried to delay the plane so that I would miss my connection and stay in Milan with them to go to the Opera all together. We all made it to the plane eventually, so it looked like a very good start.

After a bit of humans-watching directed to a lovely pair cool daddy-cool boy, ended up with sweet 60+ old elegant couple interested in knowing Brussels stories ("how do they see us Italians in Brussels?" Ahem... next question, please?) and taking care of each other like they just fell in love.

Me, I was just showing off, by pretending to be able to read in sequence: a book in Spanish, the Economist, a Telecom report in French

Flying stories - part 1

Flying home is always en enriching experience.

Now, besides observing the different kinds of people flying to Milan, Rome or Naples (omg), there's a lot of learning about the world.

For example, landing in Linate today was like landing in a parallel universe. It was not the Linate I'd known for years. Where were all my shops? Where was the big café? I did not even have to re-do the security checks when on transit. Did I get stuck in some kind of Abre los ojos situation?

One thing is certain though: even in this parallel universe, there are parents not missing a single hand waving of their offsprings, jumping at the minimal suspicion of a potential wish on the verge of being formulated. Usually they are sitting next to you.

More on Broadband

While summer is approaching in Tanzania, wintertime dicsussions take place in the northern emisphere. One of my favourite: broadband.

Everyone around the world wants a broadband plan and, for once, the US is looking at what we are doing on the other side of the Atlantic. In fact, we are not doing that bad and we have had a couple of good ideas that may be copied elsewhere.

One of them is open access obligations on dominant network operators. Even (some) Americans telecom experts now think it's a pretty good idea.
Another one, and I am a little proud of it, is giving guidelines on how to publicly fund broadband networks (having given a hand with it).

The difficulty being how to accelerate fibre rollout without creating new digital divides, how to pour public funds in the economy without replacing private investments, how to leave market forces free without recreating old monopolistic bottlenecks. We think we have found some good balance, regulators and telcos will have to do the rest.

But for us (day-to-day case handlers) the funniest point of the part on the EU Guidelines in the Harvard report (pdf) is the reference to the fundamental experience with Holland and Sweden which became the basis for the document. In fact, the Dutch project was quite peculiar to become an widespread example, and as of today represents an exception rather than the rule. As for Sweden, we are still wondering what is the example the contributors had in mind.

In fact, the Guidelines were born out of the experience with dozens of "low profile" cases from different regions and countries eager to bridge their local digital divides and a few "high profile" (i.e. contentious) ones. Anyways, glad to see that some US regulators may be finally take a look at a good piece of EU legislation.

Broadband in Africa

Before resuming the Tanzanian stories - or changing subject even - a digression.

Broadband connection in Tanzania wasn't great, no surprises there. A (rather slow) Internet access was available at the hotel in Arusha, some sort of Internet café (without coffee) with 90s style computers in Nungwi (Zanzibar) and a slightly better business point in the hotel in Dar Es Salaam.

But locals (source: Isack the driver-guide) had hopes: some optical fibre cable had reached East Africa (Mombasa) and soon would Internet traffic be routed faster.

Come back to Europe and suddenly broadband in Africa is a debated topic.

For example, courtesy of a colleague, I learnt that in Africa, instead of broadband, one can use a pigeon carrying a USB to transfer data:

Broadband promised to unite the world with super-fast data delivery - but in South Africa it seems the web is still no faster than a humble pigeon. BBC News

Few days later, the web is full of reports on fibre optic in East Africa (Isack's info was correct).

BBC here, talking about the economics of Broadband take up. Prof. Juma talking about it at the Berkman Center in Harvard.

Pondering: maybe my next broadband project could be for Africa.

Stories from Tanzania

Visited a village in Tanzania, of the Sonjo tribe, an ethnic group rival of the Maasais. Less touristic and more authentic, we were told and so it was.

4.000 inhabitants, of whom more than 2.000 children. No water, no electricity, only a lot of dust. Their huts were not so different from the ones above, although, strictly speaking those are Maasai. Guided by the deputy-head of the village, English speaking, we walked around and visited a "house", while a few hundreds of those 2.000 children were asking for pens, pencils, scarfs, t-shirts or anything you'd be willing to give away.

Not an experience you expect to do while on holidays, awaking a sense of solidarity and powerlessness. Or of guilt.

But the highlight of the visit was the chat with the deputy-head showing us around: how is the head of the village being chosen?
"Well, I think it's like in Italy: the richest man becomes the Head"

Priceless answer. And speechless Italian tourists.

P.S. The richest man of the village had 200 cows

People from Tanzania

First of all, in Africa, take it easy, no problem, hakuna matata. And here the main Italian representative of the attitude ;) who's also going to contribute to the blog.

One of the first Maasais we met on the road. They didn't like to be taken on pictures - unless accompanied by a "tip".

After a couple of National Parks and a few hundred km on unpaved road, splashing tons of dust on unwilling Maasais passing by, we stopped to visit a school. Primary school teaching is in Swahili, while in secondary school courses are in English.

Remember the tourist waking up early and starting to run? One day it was for the purpose of accompanying the Hadzapi to go hunting. Read it again: me and my friends waking up early and running for 2 hours after hunters chasing animals with bow and arrows (caught a couple of birds).

We met the children afterwards.

Here, special photo for some French colleague of mine who has a special passion for the Maasai tribe (D., there are 122 tribes in TZ, not only them ;)

One of them even accepted to dance with our driver guide, the mytical Isack. Of course after tip of 1 USD.

"In Africa, you're never alone", said Ali the cook of the expedition (allegedly quoting a slogan from the Liverpool football team). In any case, if a truck gets stuck in the middle of nowhere, you got to help out.

In Zanzibar, on a little boat called Hakuna Matata, heading to some atol, we could not forget the days in the bush and the animals we saw :)

And finally... GAME!

An African story everybody knows says:

Every morning in the bush, a gazelle wakes up: she knows she'll have to run faster than a lion or she'll be eaten up. Every morning in the bush, a lion wakes up: he knows he'll have to run faster than a gazelle or he'll starve. Every morning in the bush, a tourist wakes up: she knows she'll have to run faster to get to the jeep early and see the lion chasing the gazelle.

The moral of the story: it doesn't matter whether you are a lion, a gazelle or a tourist. Get some sleep before going to the bush!!!

Hippos, for example don't get enough sleep...



This giraffe here was very curious about us...



Here, the "beauty of the bush", the warthog, aka il facocero, aka Pumba!



And here, wildebeests. They love travelling through Tanzania. We learned everything about their yearly migration.



The Ngorongoro but especially the Serengeti (Swahili for "land of endless plains" - stated Isack) were full of zebras and especially of gazelles and antilopes of all kinds: impalas, Thomson gazelles, Grant gazelles, clipspringers, dik-diks, hartebeests, waterbucks (FYI: yes, now we are able to identify each type!)



A couple of elephants visited our camp in the Ngorongoro and drank our water but spared our tents... Here, a couple of more "peaceful" ones who preferred to stay inside the crater instead of walking up to us, 2.400 mt above sea level.



In South Africa I did not see so many lions as in Tanzania. Of course I 've got a full reportage about them but I'll spare you from seeing ALL the pics and post only a couple of them ;)

Here, lions from the Ngorongoro Crater...



...and here a beautiful one from the Serengeti, who left all impalas and Thomson gazelles to come all the way to our jeeps to greet us, have a drink and a pee (of course all this has been duly documented)



Zebras: beautiful and elegant (forza Juve, btw)



Next episodes, people from Tanzania and stories from our Moleskine notebooks.

First stories and pics from Tanzania

Jambo everyone!

Mambooooo! (please, say "poa"). Habari? Nzuri!

I guess everyone now is busy working on pictures from Tanzania. It's going to take forever but I'll give you here a taste of what we've done.

Above is how we started, enthusiastic, full of energy, all clothes were still clean and in order, our Moleskine notebooks were still to be filled in with memorable events and statements, there was no dust in our hair and under the nails, grocery shopping had just been done, drivers and cook (right side of the photo) were all ready to go. Twende (andiamo)!

Very soon, we would ride for over 1.500 km on unpaved roads with our 4WD (above), eat dust ("dust is adventure", say our driver-guide Isack il Pallonaro), learning Swahili curse words, eating soup and ugali, waving at Tanzanian children, shooting pictures like there's no tomorrow (see below).

Of course, we would also enjoy so much sleeping in a tent, with all kinds of wather conditions, dry and humid, warm and with 5 degrees outside ("mist is adventure" say Isack), not scared by the wind threatening to blow everything away.



Above, our second day in Ngorongoro, after the visit of elephants and wild boars to our camp, a freezing night accompanied by the verse of hyenas, and a song contest among Swedes, Italians and Tanzanians. Inspired by the safari, the Italian proposal was "Ci son due coccodrilli ed un orangutan..."

Tomorrow, pictures of the animals, at last!